“Yeah, but I like her.” More than like and by the smile on Ryan’s face, he understands.
Abby
Working as a team, the boys hand off bale of hay after bale of hay to the next guy in line until it reaches Chris and he neatly stacks it in the barn. They work under lamps hung in the rafters. They’ve been at it all day. In the fields, in the barn, picking up, stacking, never ceasing.
Night is just about to completely fall. There’s only a sliver of red and pink in the western sky. The rest of the world is dark. Very dark. Except for the scattered fireflies dancing across the field.
Logan has his shirt off, all the boys do, but it’s Logan that I can’t stop staring at. He’s gorgeous. Black hair, dark eyes, muscles that ripple with every movement. A fine sheet of sweat covers him and I’ve spent the past twenty minutes imagining caressing my fingers along the lines of his chest. His jeans ride low and I can spot the tip of his black underwear.
I breathe in deeply. Logan wears briefs and it looks like the type that’s tight to him. I breathe out. God, I’m attracted to the boy. But that’s not new information. My fingers brush my lips and I recall how it felt when Logan kissed me in my bed. The weight of his body over mine, the pressure of his tantalizing lips, the intoxicating smell of dark spices.
I’m warm, very warm, and it’s not due to the summer heat.
West picks up the last bale and hands it to Noah who gives it to Isaiah who hands it to Ryan who gives it to Logan who finally offers it to Chris. Each of the boys are weary, exhausted, and I don’t have the heart to ask how much they are making doing such backbreaking work. I hope it’s a financial windfall. I hope it’s enough to offset the way they sway on their dead feet.
In silence, they gather their things and I have no doubt they’re heading for the cabin. There’s a small shower in there. Too small. And if the water spouting from the showerhead is anything like the water that drips from the sink it’ll look funky and smell just as bad.
West walks past and blows me a kiss. I flip him off. Isaiah’s my friend. Noah’s close to being a friend. West is what I would imagine it is like to have an annoying older brother.
Chris tosses his shirt over his shoulder and drinks from an almost empty gallon jug.
“Hey, Chris,” I say as everyone starts to leave.
He pauses by me, giving the rest of the guys enough space to ease past and us enough privacy that I can ask while not feeling like a fool. “If I’m stuck here, I want to help.”
Chris sizes me up and I bristle with his assessment. I’m too small and not strong enough. It’s written all over his face. I could hang for a bit with them though, but I’m not stupid enough to think I could hang with them the entire time. But still, I could help.
“Can you drive the tractor? I feel like an idiot being on there with them working their asses off and nobody will switch with me.”
I bite my bottom lip. The answer is no. I barely know how to drive, let alone drive a tractor, but I’m bored and I hate feeling useless. “Sure.”
“Good. Thanks.” He glances over his shoulder at Logan. “Do me a favor and give him a break. I can understand why you’re mad, but...”
The glare I give him causes Chris to not finish his statement.
“Just give him a break.”
“Are you saying that because you feel sorry for him?” I blurt, irritated that he thinks he has the right to voice an opinion on my life. Like what Logan confessed to him regarding me was Logan’s business to share. “Because Logan admitted he has diabetes you want me to pity him?”
Chris works his jaw. “I’m saying it because he cares about you, but if you can’t get past what he told us, maybe you shouldn’t give him a break. Maybe I should drive you back to Louisville now.”
I wither, but Chris doesn’t see it because he strides off. I don’t know Chris that well. I only know Ryan and him through the occasional time Logan has brought me along to participate in whatever craziness he was interested in doing with Ryan and Chris. Pissing off my host, not my plan.
Logan shoves his shirt hard into his backpack and my head falls back. Pissing off Logan because he overhead that little conversation with Chris was most definitely not in the plan.
He snatches his stuff off the ground and stalks for the door.
“You think you’re the one that gets to be mad?” I demand. “You betrayed what I told you and then I find out you’ve been lying to me the entire time.”
Logan rounds on me, anger blaring from his eyes. “How is keeping my diabetes a secret any different from keeping your grandmother a secret from us? From me?”
“Diabetes is something inside you. Something you can’t change. Something that I’m guessing could kill you.”
“Like dealing drugs won’t kill you? At least you have a choice. I don’t. And so you know, diabetes isn’t cancer or a death sentence. My pancreas doesn’t produce insulin so I inject some into my body to make up for it.”
“It can’t be that simple.”
“You’re right, it’s not, but excuse the fuck out of me if I don’t want to be known as the boy with diabetes. The broken boy everyone feels sorry for and does things for because of pity.”
My words being flung back at me hurt. A sharp knife cutting into me over and over again. “I was mad. I didn’t mean what I said to Chris. This isn’t about pity or feeling sorry for you. You didn’t trust me!”
“You didn’t trust me, either!” Logan shouts then circles away from me. His chest expands and deflates at a rapid pace and he tosses his pack to the ground.
He threads his fingers behind his head and yells, “Dammit!”
I don’t flinch with his anger. Maybe because I’m just as mad, maybe because I’m too numb to emotion, maybe because I know Logan would never hurt me. Logan paces. Back and forth and each pass is less hurried than before. Finally, he halts in the middle of the barn and drops his arms to his sides.
Besides the cooing of a few pigeons in the rafters, the barn is quiet, but heavy. Filled with all the words I don’t know how to say, emotions I’m not sure how to feel.
“I did trust you,” I say, softly. “When it counted, you are the one I told about Grams. I trusted you to take care of what I love the most.”
Logan blows out an audible breath. “I know. I’m sorry.”
Me, too. I study Logan under the dim light. His shirt is off, his muscles flexed in tense emotion. He’s beautiful and strong and I trust him more than I trust anyone else. Have been honest with him more than I’ve been honest with anyone else, even myself.
Would I have looked upon Logan differently if I had known from the beginning he had diabetes? I purse my lips. Wish I could say I’m a better person, but I’ve never claimed to be good. Odds are I would have second-guessed him—would have wondered if he could have really kept up with me and Isaiah.
Knowing Logan like I do, he would have eventually proved himself, but that’s the problem—why should Logan have to prove himself because of the shitty hand his genetics dealt him?
“I did it for you,” Logan says to the dirt floor. “I told everyone about my diabetes for you. I risked my best friendships, risked changing how they think of me, for you. I knew telling them about your grandmother would hurt you so I made them mad at me. To make it fair between us—I told them my secret. So thanks, for what you did today. For distracting them after my shot. Just...thanks.”
Logan grabs his bag again and shame heats my face and it’s not an emotion I’m used to. It’s a sickening feeling and I’m experiencing it because I’ve hurt Logan’s pride. “Logan.”
But he ignores me.
“Logan!” And when he won’t stop, I fall into step with him and place my fingers on his bicep. “Logan, please stop.”
He does, halting so quickly that I almost ram into him. We’re at
the barn door and he stares out into the night.
Logan’s done what I wanted, but I’m paralyzed. Talking, convincing people to stay, giving words to my emotions—that’s not something I’m used to. Not something I’m sure how to do. “I was mad...at Chris for stepping in and...I am mad...at you...for telling everyone...but then I’m not...and...”
“Be quiet, Abby.”
He’s angry. Logan should be angry. I cut him down...proved why he never wanted to share what he did... I thought leaving him or him leaving me was what I desired, but there’s this desperation I can’t shake. “Just listen...this isn’t easy...”
“I mean it,” he says in a harsh whisper. “Stop talking.”
“You’re serious?” Panic wells up inside me. “This is when you give up on me? This moment...one stupid moment...I’m telling you I’m sorry...”
Dizziness overwhelms me and heat rushes up my neck, to my face and blasts me in such a way that causes my throat to swell shut. I don’t tell people I’m sorry. I don’t apologize and when I do, it’s too late.
Never did I think Logan would give up on me...not when he showed up on my staircase after I tried to shove him away, not after that kiss on my bed. In the back of my mind, no—in the depth of my soul—I always thought he’d be there, just like he said, to catch me when I fall...
...and Logan and I both know how long and tough my falls are.
“I didn’t mean what I said,” I rush out before he can stop me again. “You’re right, I care about you. A lot.”
I sway with the words and a hand crashes to my heart. I love him. Oh, God, I do love him. This isn’t falling. This isn’t a maybe. This is love and I’m not allowed to love anyone else. There’s only room for Grams.
Logan finally looks over at me and the frustration that had marred his beautiful dark eyes is gone. He reaches up and tucks my hair behind my shoulder. When his fingers feather against my face pleasing chills trickle down my spine. Like we’re in sync, I lean my cheek into him and Logan cups my face with his hand.
He tilts his head to the yard. “I didn’t want you to scare the bunnies.”
I blink and a sweep of his thumb across my face shakes me back to life. “What?”
“Look.” Logan drops his hand but then slips his arm around my waist and slides behind me so that his front warms my back. His head is against mine, his breath billows through the stands of my hair and I have goose bumps. Me, I have the good, pleasing type of goose bumps.
I lick my dry lips and try to see what Logan suggested is there. At first, all I see is dark—blackness, but with a few blinks and a track of a movement to my right, I see an ear then another then two more. My heart pounds and excitement tickles my bloodstream. Bunnies. The yard in front of the barn is filled with bunnies. They’re brown and furry and the urge is to rush out, grab one, and squish it to my face.
“It’s Timothy hay,” he whispers, referring to the bales behind us. “It’s sweet to them. I wonder how long they’ve been stalking us.”
While the guys were taking the bales off the trailer, loose pieces of hay fell to the ground and now lots of the joyous critters are partaking in a free meal. Just when I couldn’t love bunnies more, I do—they also appreciate being a scavenger. Beautiful little scavengers.
Logan locks his arms around me and I wrap my arms around his, enjoying this hug, enjoying his hold. He turns his head, nuzzling his nose into my hair. “Abby?”
I close my eyes and breathe in to calm the thundering in my soul. “Yes?”
“You know I care for you, too.”
I squeeze his arms and Logan places a slow kiss against the side of my head.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “For what I said...” For pushing him away.
“I can’t lose you. You returning to selling, I’m not okay with it. Do anything else you want. Lion taming. Sniper. Detonation expert. Juggling fire. High school guidance counselor.”
The right side of my mouth tips up. “That’s safer?”
“At least then you’ll have backup. You’ll have people you can trust.”
My happy moment fades and a bunny raises his head and seems to look at me. He knows a possible predator is near. He knows he’s in danger and yet he stays perfectly still. Acting as if when he freezes he becomes invisible, but all he’s done is made himself an easier target.
It’s the same thing I’ll be doing if I return to selling on the streets.
“I’ll tell you something else nobody knows,” he whispers.
“Other than you can play guitar,” I tease.
I feel his chest rumbling with his laugh and I like the sensation.
“Tell me.”
Logan pauses and the weight of what he’s about to tell me settles onto my body. Whatever it is, he’s drowning in it. “My father accused me of having no idea who I am. He says that I just ride whatever wave is in front of me to the shore.”
His statement is one of those that means thinking before responding. Above us a bird flaps its wings as it moves from one rafter to the next. I snuggle in tighter to Logan and watch as two bunnies sniff each other’s noses. Wish making friends in the real world was that easy.
Who is Logan? A baseball player, brilliant, a daredevil, a drag racer, a tree climber, a great kisser, a friend. Loyal and larger than life. Sexy and strong. Quiet but his presence is loud. Overbearing yet kind. Persistent and patient.
In the end, it doesn’t matter who I think he is, it doesn’t matter who Logan’s father thinks Logan is, the only opinion that matters on this subject is Logan’s.
“What do you think of what he said?” I ask.
“I’m scared he’s right.”
If my grandmother was of sound mind, what would she think of me? Would she be firm that I had a good grasp of who I am? I lower my head. There’s no point in pretending to guess for an answer. I already know. She’d be ashamed of my choices...she’d state the obvious just like Logan’s father...
“I’m scared he’d be right on me, too,” I say. “I’m not sure I know who I am, either.”
“You’re a girl who likes bunnies.”
I smile at that and let the back of my head rest on his chest. “Not a bad start.”
“No, it’s not.”
I pull back from Logan and my fingers trace along his bicep where he had given himself a shot at lunch then along his stomach where I had seen him give himself a shot before dinner.
How cruel is fate to bring me and Logan together? A girl whose lifestyle will kill her and a boy who can’t exchange the health hand he’s been dealt. “Does it hurt? The shots I mean?”
“I’m used to it.”
Not really an answer, yet it is at the same time. “I have a ton of questions. Besides movies and TV, I don’t understand diabetes at all. Like what’s the difference between type 1 and type 2? Why do I see you eat sweets—like are you cheating? Which I’m okay with unless chocolate cake can kill you then we’ve got a problem. And how do you know how to test and give yourself shots? And are you going to be okay?”
“Do you mind breathing between those questions? It might help me keep up.”
I scowl and Logan attempts to smother a smile.
“Movies and TV often get it wrong. With type 1, my body no longer produces insulin. With type 2, the body doesn’t use the insulin it produces properly. I’m allowed to eat sugar, I just got to watch how much. I can explain testing and my shots as I go. As long as I take care of myself, I’ll be fine.” Logan links our fingers together. “And we’ve got time for me to answer all of the questions running through your head.”
I search his eyes. Never once did Logan look away. His body didn’t twitch. His movements weren’t off. He means all that he says and more importantly, he truly believes he’ll be fine. Good because I can’t stand the idea of losing him.
r /> I inhale. Five days, four minus today. Four days away from Grams, four days being MIA from Ricky, Linus, and my clients, four days’ loss of money.
I breathe out. Four days to possibly fix my crumbling life. Four days to figure out how to handle Tommy and Linus and Ricky. Four days to figure out how to salvage what’s left of the Abby I want to be. Four days to explore who I want to be. “Okay.”
Logan flashes that gorgeous, crazy smile then tugs on my hand. “Come on, but be quiet.”
“Why?”
“I saw the look on your face when Chris asked you to drive the tractor. I bet you don’t know how to drive one.”
I raise my chin at his forever arrogant assumptions. “I’m a smart girl and can figure it out.”
“You’re smart.” And his grin only grows. “But it doesn’t mean you know how to drive a tractor. It also doesn’t mean that you had the forethought to steal the keys from Chris.”
I mock gasp and place a hand over my mouth. “Stealing? Logan, are you suggesting that we do something illegal?”
“You want to learn or not?” Logan opens his palm in front of my face and keys dangle from his fingers. “You’re going to be cranky when you can’t start that puppy up and go.”
“I hate it when you’re right.”
“Then you’re mad an awful lot, aren’t you?”
“Then you’re mad an awful lot, aren’t you?” I sarcastically mimic.
Logan tugs on my hand again and I go with him because...I don’t know how to drive very well, and I especially don’t know how to drive a tractor...and because, right now, I’d probably go anywhere this strong hand leads.
We walk through the yard and a dozen bunnies gloriously spring out of our way. Bunnies surrounding me, a hot guy holding my hand, and I’m pretty sure tractor theft in my future. Life can’t get much better than this.
Logan
Green corn stalks fly at us and Abby squeals in a combination of delight and horror. I reach around her and one-eighty the tractor. It’s tough to do with her on my lap, but can’t say I’m not enjoying Abby being this close.